


Damn Near Perfect

by fakebodies



Category: Rambo Series (Movies)
Genre: ???????????????, M/M, i don't have a good excuse for this?, it's a Rambo fic just don't look at me man idk, its cute tho?, uhhhhhh???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 02:35:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11773710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fakebodies/pseuds/fakebodies
Summary: Yeah, Mitch knows things could be better. Things could always be better, no matter where you are or what's going on. That doesn't stop some moments from being as perfect as moments can get.





	Damn Near Perfect

There's a very comfortable routine they both follow. Mitch yawns and stretches before shuffling out to the kitchen, putting on a pot of coffee and starting to look through the cabinets until he decides on what he wants for breakfast. Almost perfectly silently, just before he decides, a pair of strong arms will wrap around his waist, and a head will lean against his shoulder.

Mitch's hand either wanders down to squeeze John's, or up to brush through his soft hair. Either way, John will make a low, approving sound and kiss behind his ear. It always makes Mitch a little melty when he does that. Once affectionate touches have been exchanged, Mitch will ask for John's opinion on breakfast before starting to fix it. Sometimes it's just cereal, other times it's waffles and bacon, or fruit and toast. Mitch has never been very picky, so unless something really sparks his appetite he's happy to just let John decide. Besides, Mitch would be lying if he said he didn't love hearing John's voice so close.

Mitch will start to cook, John moving to stand next to him. When the coffee's done, John will pour it for both of them. His, he leaves black, but he adds sugar and plenty of creamer to Mitch's. They share a smirk as John hands Mitch the mug- Mitch is well aware that John thinks coffee stops being coffee if you add anything more than a touch of sugar. Mitch, on the other hand, thinks black coffee just tastes like piss. They've both teased each other for their tastes, always lighthearted.

Once their breakfast is prepared, Mitch dishes up and walks to the soft, worn couch that is the center of their living room. He sits with John, tucked against John's side as he starts to eat. John switches on the TV, puts his arm around Mitch's shoulder, and starts in on his breakfast as well. Usually, they just eat in silence, so Mitch sees no harm in letting his thoughts wander.

It had been years since Hope. Three, he thinks, but you probably shouldn't quote him on that. It had been one hell of a surprise when John Rambo showed up in this new town, well away from Hope but right where Mitch had transferred to. Mitch had never really believed too much in divine intervention or anything, but he has to admit it's one hell of a coincidence.

Mitch had stopped John outside of a diner, not to arrest him but to apologize. John had seemed legitimately surprised to hear the red-haired deputy apologizing for everything. Especially for not speaking up. John had nodded, accepted Mitch's apology, and walked away. Mitch had expected John to leave town after that, but he hadn't. On the fourth day he'd spotted John wandering around, Mitch asked if he'd like a place to stay.

That had been four years ago. At first, they'd tip-toed around each other. Then, Mitch got woken up at three in the morning by the sound of his patio door opening. The sliding glass door was anything but quiet, and when he went to check he found John standing out in the cold, wearing only a tank top and his boxers. Gingerly, Mitch moved closer, saying John's name so he'd know Mitch was there. He touched John's stiff shoulder.

"John? You okay?"

John fixed him with a quiet, intense stare and shook his head. Mitch nodded, and gently took John's hand.

"C'mon, let's go back inside. You're gonna catch a cold like this."

John let Mitch lead him back into the house, let Mitch wrap a blanket around his shoulders and guide him to the couch to sit. Mitch rubbed John's back and asked him what was wrong.

"Not here right now." John shook his head.

"Where, then?"

John wiggled his hand and gestured behind him.  
"Just not here."

Mitch had asked if, maybe, Mitch sitting with him and putting on some TV or reading out loud would help John feel more here. John shrugged, asked Mitch to read, and once Mitch had selected a book and sat back down John closed his eyes to listen.

In those first two years, Mitch had dealt with more things like that, where John just "wasn't there," and worse. As they slowly got comfortable with each other, Mitch had found himself falling in love with John's little smiles, his dry sense of humor, the way he liked to stand outside and watch the sky to center himself. He'd hid his feelings, and pretty well too, but it all came to a head one night. John had accidentally hit Mitch, and it had only made what was already-bad worse. John tried to leave, about to disappear into the night when Mitch grabbed his arm.

"John, please."

"Let go." John said, voice firm, gaze cold. Mitch shook his head.

"John, I-"

"Let. Go."

When Mitch didn't, John yanked his arm back hard enough to make Mitch stumble. Mitch used the opportunity, the closeness, to lean forward and kiss John. It wasn't hard or passionate, nothing to write home about, just a small kiss on the cheek- still enough to get John to pause and stare at him. Mitch looked pleadingly back.

"I _love_ you. John..."

John stayed, let Mitch hug him, and, with time, things got a whole lot better.

* * *

Mitch is pulled back out of his thoughts by John's lips on his cheek, and he can't keep a small smile from forming at the feeling of John's stubble.

"There you are. What were you thinking about?"

"You." Mitch smiles warmly. A flash of surprise crosses John's features before he's smiling as well.

"Me, really? I still don't know what you see." John squeezes Mitch's shoulder.

"Do I need to start making a list of all the reasons I love you?"

"Might be useful." John nods. Mitch hums thoughtfully.

"It'll be a pretty long list. I can think of a lot of things."

"Oh yeah? Like what?" John smirks a little. Mitch smirks right back, leaning forward to kiss John.

"First of all, you're a very good kisser. Second..."

Mitch keeps listing things until John lets out a quiet laugh, telling him to stop. They're both smiling, half-eaten breakfasts forgotten in favor of Mitch sitting with his legs across John's lap, his head on John's shoulder. Mitch knows things could be better- they'd be a hell of a lot better if John could sleep peacefully every night, or if he didn't still sometimes feel the need to disappear for fear he'll hurt Mitch badly one day.

Yeah, Mitch knows things could be better, but now? In a moment like this, with John's forehead resting against his, his fingers combing gently through John's hair? Mitch knows they've got it damn near perfect, too.


End file.
